Never Quite Right
by PassionateDarkness
Summary: They were left alone, abandoned by the people they loved to fight and seek comfort in each other and form a bond that not quite was love and wasn’t hate…but was faith.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Never Quite Right

Author: PassionateDarkness

Summery: They were left alone, abandoned by the people they loved to fight and seek comfort in each other and form a bond that not quite was love and wasn't hate…but was faith.

Pairing: Angel/Dawn --- Mentions Buffy/Angel, Dawn/Spike, and Buffy/Spike

A/n: This came to be completely randomly since I've been in complete original zone and haven't been writing fanfiction as much as I normally do. Anyway, enjoy and review.

She always wondered about him, long before they became partners, lovers, friends. Way back when he and her sister were fucking, she wondered about him. Why he still insisted on fighting when he had a very slim chance of ever gaining the redemption he dreamt of? Why, even after her sister's death, he continued to look after her? Questions of the sort plagued her by night as she walked in the graveyard, stake in hand and foot steps in synch with her not so subtle stalker. She was just little Dawnie after all, the slayer's sister, the key, the baby. She had convinced herself years ago that no one cared. That if Buffy had just let her jump, all of the false memories would evaporate and they could return to their normally hellish lives.

She would never forget when she met him, just ten years old and not quite out of the cootie stage but not quite into the boys stage. She had never meant to be caught snooping in Buffy's room again, and yet her mind quickly shifted from the possible punishment towards the very shirtless sleeping man stretched across the white comforter of her sister's bed. He awoke as soon as she tapped his shoulder, demanding with wide eyes and a slightly firm but shaking voice what exactly he was doing. He flashed her his game face; trying to, in some sad attempt, scare her. He was shocked to say the least when her laughter filled the small room. The two had formed a secret bond that day, much like the one they both wished they could form with the blonde slayer. Dawn knew, she knew more then Buffy ever expected her to. She knew Angel was evil the second she saw him after they screwed, she knew he was gone when Buffy disappeared, and she knew he would leave. For such a young girl, she knew a hell of a lot. They only really talked that day, words were not a big thing between them. Dawn knew he only put up with her for Buffy, but in the brief years he resided in Sunnydale she got to know him better just by the flash of his eyes then Willow knew Buffy. She was ten years old when she first realized she wasn't good enough. The two Summers girls were polar opposites. Short vs. Tall. Blonde vs. Brunette. The Slayer vs. The Key. The Light vs. The Dark. The Known vs. The Invisible. Buffy vs. Dawn. And Dawn never won.

The formed nightly rituals, ones that neither could survive without. Simple things that comfort them with that sense of reality and consistency needed. Sleep during the day, rise come night, slay, kill, win. Then they patch up almost deadly but not quite wounds and collapse on the couch to watch "I love Lucy" reruns and slowly fall asleep with the blackout curtains drawn and their hearts cold.

He still insists on saying the rosary each night, even though it burns each syllable into his fingertips. The vibrations of his chest comfort her as his throaty voice recites the prayers of protection and love. Prayers she long ago stopped believing in. She is torn between which she likes better, the lack of a heartbeat or the shaking on the hard body beneath her as he prays. Buffy would have looked down on their relationship, her first love and her little sister. She would never know the depth behind their love. No, they aren't in love with each other. They aren't what the other wanted. They are brunette when they crave blonde, they smell of lust not love, their touches are hurried and impatient. Just trying to feel something…some reassurance that they are indeed alive…

The hate each other for the simplest things, hair color and eye color, smells and kisses. Blue and Brown. Green and Brown. Blue and Blue. Long locks and platinum hair. Forgotten dreams and unwanted fears.

His body is always cold, but that's how she likes it best. It has been years since everyone died…either in the heat of battle, succumbing to the illnesses that strike even champions, or simply of old age, and Dawn Summers has long since gotten used to the cold. She has come to hate the words of death, the hospitals, the funeral homes, and every little aspect of her loved ones that would loom years after their death. She will never die. That didn't hit her until she buried the man she loved. She will live forever. Angel had long since stopped freaking out when she was injured. He will just clean her up, bandage the wounds she obtained, and collapse next to her on whatever surface was available. He will whisper the name of the girl she wished she is, and she will scream the name of the man who truly held her heart. And they will tumble, upon sheets that should be silk but silk never lasts long when it belongs to two lonely souls who are searching for their place in a world of innocent hearts and shadows.

A/n: Not to sure if this is going to be a one shot or a full story, feel free to shout out your opinion.


	2. Empty Lobbies

A/n: I got so many people asking me to make this into a full story so I'm just going with it. Please review.

There were things about her that he hated; things like how she brushed her hair when it was wet, or how she slept. She hated how she wasn't good enough; how loving her didn't make him turn evil like loving her sister did. They hated their differences. They hated their similarities even more. They never went out, but that never really bothered either of them for going out was for the living and they were definitely not considered the living. Sure, Dawn had a heart beat but when someone is stabbed threw the gut with a sword and managed to still kick ass; they were clearly moved from the living category. She was sleeping beside him, her hair combed behind her ears and her eyes closed. He would never deny her beauty, but she wasn't Buffy…she wasn't the one he loved. She didn't make him want to live. Just as he wasn't the man she herself desired, but in such a world of grays sometimes people clutch to what is the absolute opposite of what they want. What is different from the thing they love, such as a dancer that co-works as a chef. Or a homicide detective that is also a hit man.

"What's wrong?" She asked, turning to face him. Her head was propped up by her hand, fingers entangled in the mass of brunette hair. Her eyes looked sultry, half closed in a deadly sexy kind of way. A smile tickled her lips.

"Nothing," He responded, pulling her to him. He crushed his mouth against hers, warding away the images of slayers while embracing a woman who would never be good enough.

She turned on her side, her back facing him as she slowly allowed sleep to overcome her. She felt him get up, felt him leave the room, heard him open the door of the room next door…and it killed her. She lay there for a while, listening to the steady pitter patter of the rain outside. The sun was just rising, and though she had slept only a few hours, she rose. Pulling on an outfit that was more for comfort then show, the brunette tossed her hair into a ponytail and yanked her broad sword from the closet. She carried it to the training room, swinging it around her as she went.

After working up a sweat, she dropped the sword with a deafening clatter and grabbed one of the towels from the bench Angel had built along the wall. She toweled off while entering the empty kitchen. She avoided the lobby at all cost, avoided the pictures that decorated the walls like the scars did her body. Pictures so he wouldn't forget, drawings so he wouldn't forget, memories trapped on paint chipped walls…so he wouldn't forget. She wished she could forget; she wished she could erase the pain like he could the lines. She felt guilty for having not cried for them in such a while…felt guilty that she gave up caring.

She pulled Angel's jacket on over her tank top, walking outside and climbing into his car. As she slipped the key into the ignition she heard him open the front door and watch her, cloaked by the shadows. He was so close to humanity and yet so far. She drove, keeping her eyes trained on the feet of black asphalt.

Dawn Summers hated being here. She hated the rolling green hills that seemed so alive, the lines of headstones, the crypts she wished he lived in. She hated the pain. She walked, weaving throughout the memories and towards the line of granite pain.

"Hey," She slid onto her knees, tracing the name that stared at her.

Buffy Anne Summers

Forever Loved By All She Saved

"He misses you so much," She whispered, staring at the stones that surrounded her sisters. "God, Buffy, it's so lonely without you here. Without all of you here. Alone…" She placed a kiss on her hand, touching it to her sister's name. She did the same to the others that circled hers. Except one.

Willow, Tara, Anya, Xander, Giles, Buffy, Cordelia, Gunn, Fred, Wes, Faith, Robin, and Spike. Spike…sweet hearted fang master Spike. She moved towards the final head stone, staring at the inscription.

Dawn Summers

Rest in Peace

"Rest in Peace"…that was basically all her and Angel could come up with. Thinking she would have to die in the eyes of the humans, the two bought a headstone and "buried" her. She stood up, brushing the dirt from her jeans and walking back towards the car, leaving behind the past and heading towards a home of empty hearts and neglected lobbies.

A/n: An actual plot will develop at one point if you review.


End file.
